


Passion and Providence

by ShaeTiann



Series: When It All Falls Apart, Who Will Put Us Back Together? [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Don’t copy to another site, Epistolary, Except for the parts where canon made no fucking sense so I fixed them, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Sith Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaeTiann/pseuds/ShaeTiann
Summary: We met at the end of the world, just in time to save it.We thought we knew the cost. We were so wrong.





	1. Love in the Time of Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago I read [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327356), which gave me the idea that a classic Regency-type structure and plotline would absolutely work with the SWTOR setting and particularly with Sith Imperial political shenanigans. This is a horrendously self-indulgent desire to give Cytharat some development, and it got somewhat out of hand about the time that I realised contemporary Sith politics played a massive role. Whoops.
> 
> Some of the exchanges and reports are copied directly from the game material.
> 
> I made up a Resurgent Empire calendar and dating system based on the Dromund Kaas year. Whyever would they want to use the Republic's calendar? _*tsk*_  
(It's very close to the Republic Standard year, shhh)
> 
> I'm not sorry.

_ To: Katha Niar_  
_From: Doctor Evresh Mandritis  
_ _Subject: Medical Brief on Lord Cytharat_

Patient suffered from multiple blaster burns resulting in severe tissue damage and blood loss. Emergency surgery and life support equipment stabilized patient during transport; upon patient’s arrival at Vaiken Spacedock, medical staff proceeded with kolto tank immersion.

Prognosis is generally positive. Patient’s rehabilitation includes several hours spent outside the kolto tank each day, and he has expressed a desire to return to active status on Makeb.

Patient has requested the following message be sent to Makeb operational control:

“It was necessary, and it was good. I thank you for my redemption. May we fight as one again.”

* * *

_ To: Tarkana K’len_  
_From: Cytharat K’len  
_ _Subject: Not dead yet_

I hope this letter finds you well, my dearest sister (don’t tell Nela I said that, she’d be insufferable). My sincerest apologies for having been silent so long -- yes, I got your last ten messages of increasing impatience -- but we were in a location where incoming transmissions suffered disruption. And then, yes, I ended up in the tender care of the Vaiken Spacedock doctors. It’s not possible to write letters from inside a kolto tank, or do you know something I don’t? In answer to your inevitable question, _ yes, _I got myself shot. More than once. It was a very near thing, and I might not be writing to you at all if not for one of our associates.

I would not be exaggerating if I said the Emperor’s Wrath himself saved my life.

He could have commanded me to die, Tarka, and I would have done so willingly for the Empire. Instead, the most powerful man outside the Dark Council insisted he was going to bring home everyone who could be saved. I’m not certain what I had expected of him, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Let me start at the beginning. I cannot say where we were, for obvious reasons (you know the usual drill, top-secret, hush-hush, etcetera) but I will say that, waiting on the orbital station for the ground team to create an opening for us to come through, we had no idea whom we were working with. He was just a “specialist” sent in by the Darth in charge of our operations. When we finally got through….

Look, I’m not exaggerating when I say the “ground team” consisted of a holding team of ten and a primary assault force of precisely _ two. _ Tarka, it’s _ unheard of. _ Had our roles been reversed, I would have needed an _ army. _ The hangar door opened and the only people waiting for us were a Twi’lek woman in armour and the most beautiful Pureblood man I have ever laid my eyes on. His presence in the Force was like a beacon of pure Dark energy -- it was a wonder I hadn’t noticed him from orbit.

Of course I recognised him immediately as Darth Tempest; we all did. And, like a _ complete _ fool, I called him “Mighty Wrath.” “Mighty Wrath.” What was I thinking? In honesty, I think my brain had simply shut down in awe, and don’t feel badly for laughing at me being utterly star-struck. You know me, of course: I continued to call him “Mighty Wrath” for the rest of the campaign, just to cover for the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes from him. He has the most amazing presence, Tarka, an air of both complete authority and utter humility: his actions are the Emperor’s and not his own, and it is so enthralling to see. He could have easily been a swaggering bully, but he used his commands judiciously, refused to assign people to a dangerous task he would not do himself, and insisted that he was not going to waste a single life under his command. I can’t tell you what a relief _ that _was to hear.

Because, yes, you were right, it was intended to be a suicide mission. Many of us had something to prove -- it’s not like the Empire was likely forget that traitor Malgus was my teacher without demanding some grand gesture on my part. I’ve already received communication from the Darth in charge that my loyalty has been proven beyond what would have been expected, so that’s not hanging over my head anymore. You can tell our mothers to breathe again. I haven’t had an update on the mission’s progress since they put me under for surgery -- honestly, they should know that having no information is more stressful than having all the information. I can only hope the mission was successful.

Yours in rather wobbly health,

Cytha

* * *

_ To: Cytharat K’len_  
_From: Tarkana K’len  
_ _Subject: Enough about the stupid mission already _

You can’t just drop three sentences about the Emperor’s Wrath _ like that _ and then leave us all hanging, you ass! I _ know _ you, Cytha, you’ve never talked about _ anyone _ like that, not even what’s-his-name from the academy, and you were mooning over him for _ months _ and I had to read every soppy word of it.

Yes, I am laughing at you, you twit. The former apprentice to a Darth utterly losing his mind over Lord Tempest? Nobody even knows the man’s _ identity, _ and I can’t get enough of “Mighty Wrath.” I hope he appreciated that! Does he have a sense of humour?

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relief to no longer have the Dark Council regarding our loyalties with suspicion, though. Did I tell you Beven got into a fight with a classmate who said our entire family were traitors? How could _ you _ have known what Malgus would do? 

Before you ask, Beven most definitely won that one, and we’re all proud of him for acquitting himself so well. Learned it from his uncle, I think.

We’re all relieved to hear you’re on the mend, although knowing you, you’ll just go throw yourself back into the jaws of danger as soon as the medics have cleared you for active duty again. Mother wants to know if you’ll be home to see Beven before they send him off to the academy, and Mama is here at my elbow demanding all the gossip about the Lord Wrath that you are _ clearly _ withholding because you don’t want them both getting on your case about marriage. Again.

I’ll confess to some burning curiosity, myself, but I have _ some _ self-respect.

Yours adoringly,

Tarka

* * *

_To: Tarkana K’len_  
_From: Cytharat K’len  
_ _Subject: They make salves for that_

I suppose it was too much to hope you had long since forgotten about my embarrassing crush on Artiss. That was a long time ago, are you _ still _ holding that over my head? I should be glad to be on your good side!

It pleases me no end that Beven stood up to defend the family and that he did so well. He’s come a long way; tell him Uncle Cytha is most proud of him. And I will absolutely be home to see him off, given a month’s notice to request leave. I’m not exactly replaceable, you know.

As for gossip and my pathetic predictability….

I couldn't quite be certain, but it seemed Darth Tempest took notice of me from the start. At least, his greeting to me was flattering, and the Twi'lek woman gave him a look of open astonishment, as though she'd never heard him address someone so.

Still, I assumed I was being overly optimistic. We have all heard of the Wrath's reputation: brutal in battle, but inclined to take useful prisoners, and unfailingly polite even to his enemies. Quite different from the previous Wrath. Perhaps he was merely being sociable, and I was misreading him badly, as I have done with others in the past.

But we had business to attend to. He listened to everyone's assessments and concerns, giving as much attention to the aliens in our number as to myself and our human operations director. I had some additional equipment to give him before he departed and asked him to meet me in the hangar once he was ready.

The Twi'lek woman followed me, apparently seeking a restock of her own kit from what we'd brought.

"Cytharat," she said, as if rolling my name over in her mind. "Do your friends call you 'Cyth' for short?"

I stared at her for a moment, astonished at her boldness. Most aliens wouldn't dare even speak to a Sith at all, let alone one who can count themself among the Pureblooded. But the Lord Wrath had been speaking to her conversationally, with no sign that he considered her a servant of any sort. It seemed likely that she had grown accustomed to being treated as an equal.

I certainly wasn't about to insult a companion of the Wrath's, interest or no. "It's too close to 'Sith'," I explained. "They call me Cytha."

"That's cute." She grinned cheerfully, without any hint of mockery. "I'm Vette."

"A pleasure to meet you." There was no reason to keep my equipment secret, if she was part of the assault team, so I set about unloading. "Have you served Lord Tempest for very long?"

She giggled and stuffed part of a ration bar into her mouth. "It's still weird to hear people call him that. We met on Korriban and I helped him a bit. And then I stayed, because, hey, he's a nice person, for a Sith, and if I went off on my own, the odds of being captured and _ really _ enslaved were pretty bad. I've been working with Kael for… four years? Almost five? Wow, it's been a while."

I just blinked at her. "He was protecting you." An incredibly brash move for a Korriban acolyte. And then my brain caught up and registered that she'd used his name. Kael. Simple, likely short for something longer.

She was nodding. "We looked out for each other a lot back at the start. He's my best friend now, almost the brother I never had. I think… maybe I was the only friend _ he'd _ ever had, back then. He's never mentioned having anyone else before."

Tarka, I have never _ not _ had someone -- you, our family, my friends. How anyone could be so _ isolated _ that they might bond with a slave despite the risks, felt like a blow to the chest. Her tone was so blithe, it made the words hurt more, and I turned back to my work for the sake of distraction. “The life of a Sith doesn't easily lend itself to close bonds. They're likely more weakness than strength, for our allies can and do quickly turn on us when it's convenient for them."

"I noticed that. His Master tried to kill him like three times, for no reason."

"There's always a reason."

Vette made a dismissive noise around a second ration bar. How long had they been fighting through the ground forces? "Kael didn't give a shit what Darth Mask-face was doing; it's his own fault he's dead now."

I nearly dropped the case I was holding at the overt disrespect to even a deceased Sith Lord. "You mean to say that if his Master hadn't tried to remove him, the Wrath wouldn't have done anything to disrupt him?" 

"If Baras hadn't tried to kill and replace him, Kael wouldn't be the Wrath at all."

Darth Baras had been executed in the Council Chamber by the Wrath himself. That was a horrifying revelation, dearest Tarka, and I beg you not to share it with the rest of the family. The Emperor had chosen his Wrath for the sake of _ poetry, _ using the weapon his own enemy had once forged. I wondered if the Lord Wrath appreciated that irony.

It seemed he did, for he announced his presence by interjecting, "Baras never did know me all that well. Half the time he was lost in his own fancies, where he had a much more important role than he held in truth."

He must have taken advantage of the 'fresher, for the filth of battle had been cleaned from his face -- if not his armour, which was utilitarian and painted an unusual choice of brown and cream shades -- and his hair now hung loose and flowing like silk around his shoulders. My fingers longed to trail through that crimson cascade, even as he set about binding it once more securely in a knot at the back of his head.

"One of his former informants sent me a part of the memoirs Baras had been writing; he was trying to frame me as being jealous of his power." Lord Tempest rolled his dark golden eyes as he said this, suddenly less deific and more approachable without the formalities. "I have no idea what was going on in his head; he was quite delusional by the end of things. Which is not to say he wasn't the more dangerous for it, if he could convince others that his fantasies were real." 

Vette offered him a ration bar, and he actually embraced her and pressed a friendly kiss to her forehead in thanks as he accepted it, leaving one arm companionably around her shoulders. "So what have you got for us, Lord Cytharat?"

It was those little, casual gestures which reminded me that he was simply a man granted extraordinary power -- he quite lacks the airs of one who would seek such a role for themself, and to my mind that made him so much more worthy of what he had received. 

Of course I can't provide details on what transpired after that; we were all busy. Lord Tempest continued to impress me -- for someone called the Wrath, he exercised a striking amount of mercy, taking the reasoning behind others' actions into consideration. Vette was a more deadly shot than she appeared; between the two of them and the Wrath's judicious diplomacy, much of our problems on the ground vanished. Our operations director was a bit exasperated with him at times, I think. She never said anything, but there was a distinctive tic under her left eye that got more pronounced when he refused to simply slaughter his way through everything.

Eventually I was called upon to head a secondary strike force, and I had opportunity to witness the Emperor's Wrath in the heat of battle in person. There's a terrible sort of beauty in the work of a warrior born, every movement charged with feline grace and lethal intent. I was surprised to note that his lightsaber blade was not red but a shade of mellow copper, like golden sunlight. A curious choice, and someday I shall enquire about it.

I was definitely not imagining his flirtations as he praised my own work. Force preserve me, that man will surely be the death of me.

In any event, it turned out to be a trap. My group was pinned down and nearly overwhelmed, and yes, I got shot despite my best efforts. The Wrath could have sacrificed our entire taskforce to buy time for the objective, but once again, he declared that he would not sacrifice people for the sake of a mission which was essentially concluded. He and Vette struck our attackers from behind and cleared the room. 

I would be lying if I claimed to be entirely cognizant by then -- blood loss and pain left me dazed and it was taking all my reserves to remain upright for the sake of morale. I vaguely remember telling him what a relief it was to see them.

I definitely remember him pressing his lips to mine before I was escorted onto the shuttle for evacuation. That memory will linger with me for the rest of my life. It was like kissing the Avatar of Death, itself: glorious and terrifying and indescribably gentle. That was the only time I saw him truly smile, and that's another memory that I clung to as the medics worked to keep me alive long enough to reach Vaiken.

Tarka dear, it was worth it all for that. I lost my heart that day, and I don’t even want it back. If I had a chance to do it over, I would change nothing. 

Well. I might have stopped myself short of calling him “Mighty Wrath.”

Is that enough gossip for you, darling sister?

You are correct in that I will be going back to continue my work immediately upon clearance from the medics. The team is currently down their primary strategist, after all, and while I trust the Lord Wrath’s judgment implicitly, it is still _ my _ job, and he’s going to be called away eventually.

Please let Nela know that I haven't forgotten her birthday -- there should be a delivery shortly, and I'm sorry it was delayed. 

Yours, 

Cytha

* * *

_ Log entry date: 23.04.1361_  
_Lord Orrakael Enthal  
_ _[secure cipher]_

Is there someone I can invoice for weeks ill-spent? I'd like a refund on this one.

I feel no small amount of grief for this world. Makeb will never be the same, but at least it's still there. What a fucking disaster. 

Nutshell: We went there looking for a particular material which was only produced in the planet's core. Isotope-5 has to be a codename -- isotope of _ what? _ nobody would, or could, say. I didn't find out til we'd forged an entry for the operations team that everyone else had been assigned as a sort of prove-or-die suicide mission. Is Marr trying to get rid of me, or does he just have extraordinary faith in my ability to survive? I felt sorry for the rest of the team. Poor Katha. She didn't deserve that. And Cytharat, well. 

Well. 

I wasn't expecting to meet anyone so fascinating here. Strikingly beautiful with a bearing and poise many strive for but few achieve, it's a wonder I could even string two sentences together coherently in his presence. Was it his eyes, a vivid amber that seems to glow even in the brightest room? Or perhaps it was his rare smiles, subtle but filled with honest amusement. He wears his night-dark hair short and slicked back, but I longed to tease it loose, to see him in glorious dishevelment. His features are less craggy than my own, and I wondered how the smooth line of his cheek would feel under my fingers.

Of course I looked up his file the moment they gave me the team's dossier: trained as an inquisitor, the erstwhile Darth Malgus' former apprentice, who turned his back on his lord and in fact turned himself in as soon as he'd declined his lord's offer to join him on Ilum.

Malgus died at the hands of myself and my crew, but I was prepared to offer mercy to the end, to him and anyone who served him. There's no point in killing a potential ally. I'm certain someone thought I might be petty enough to let everyone on the Makeb crew burn; they really don't know me very well. People keep making that mistake.

So no, I wasn't about to throw Cytharat into the fire for his past associations; his dedication to the Empire and his duty should have put him beyond all suspicion. But if I'm being honest, I could reconsider any prejudice for a face so lovely.

It's… difficult, having a role like mine. It's the damned title, it's got so much baggage trailing after it. Determining whether someone is merely humouring me because they're terrified or because they want something, or if they're genuinely being nice because they might actually like me, is no easy task.

I think he might like me. I hope so anyway. Leaving my hair down briefly after taking a desperately-needed shower was perhaps a bit of a cheap trick on my part, but it did seem to distract Cytharat for a moment; he looked charmingly stunned.

Vette is far too perceptive for her own good, or maybe I'm just extremely bad at flirting during official meetings. We resupplied, Cytharat gave us some extra gear, and on the way back to the transport to the surface, she said, "He wants you to raw him in the back of the shuttle when this is over."

I nearly tripped. After I rehinged my jaw, I choked out, "Gods of my ancestors, you can't just _ say _ things like that!"

"Well, it's true!"

"Maybe so, but, _ Force, _ Vette!" She snickered at me, my darling fiend, and I grumbled, "Now I'm going to have _ that _ mental image haunting me while we're trying not to die down there." It was a rather pleasant mental image, to be fair.

"Consider it incentive to keep yourself alive, dumbass."

Well, we might as well be family by now; she has the right to call me on my shit.

Of course, nothing ever goes entirely to plan. Hutts aspiring to rebuild their ancient empire, who would have guessed? Considering what happened to their original homeworld, the claims of "bringing prosperity" sound far-fetched and heavily subjective.

Cytharat nearly died before we had opportunity to talk. I'll admit to being a bit selfish, but the options were obscene: even if we mired the Hutts' droids in lava, the sole result would have been that Archon Szajin would have had no droids to throw at us, for the price of an entire tactical team. Even without an object of personal interest involved, it wasn't worth the cost of the secondary team's lives.

Kissing Cytharat before they evacuated him to the nearest medical facility had been an uncharacteristic whim. He was lovely, true, but I have met many lovely people in the course of my career, none of whom I would have dared touch. But… he was dying. I could feel it, his strength wavering dangerously. If he had become one with the Void and I hadn't taken that one opportunity to offer tenderness, I would have regretted it forever.

The look he gave me was worth it. "For that alone, I would have come to Makeb," he said, with the sweetest smile, marred by a wince of pain, before the surviving troops half-carried him onto the shuttle.

Force help me, is this what love feels like? It isn't at all what I feel toward Vette, who is truly the little sister I never had, my first true friend whom I would guard with my life. This is different, like my heart wishes to expand beyond the limits of my ribs, and when my mind is not occupied by work, it dwells on Cytharat and his well-being. I was later informed had survived to reach the care of Vaiken's specialists.

I knew. I would have felt it, had he died.

I won't go into detail here -- the report has been filed and I have no stomach to repeat myself -- but we succeeded in our objective, barely. Archon Szajin and his damned droids are paste. Katha paid the price. I cannot blame myself: I was in no position to assist, and even had a distress call been issued, Vette and I could not have made it back in time.

It is very difficult not to blame myself.

I have commended both Katha and Nadrin along with the rest of their team to Marr. Whatever their crimes which landed them on that mission, they served the Empire loyally.

We have some time to resupply before I am needed elsewhere. Vaiken Spacedock isn't beyond range.

There's someone I wish to check up on.


	2. Mercury and Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stolen moments bring a sort of healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not tagging for game spoilers; it should go without saying that this story is riddled with them.

_To: Cytharat K’len_  
_ From: Tarkana K’len  
Subject: Oh you went there_

Artiss, that was his name! I couldn't likely_ forget _ the terrible poetry you wrote, and of course I saved copies of it. Maybe a certain someone would find amusement in reading them, _ hmm? _

What delicious gossip, my dear! And I swear to you, if the rest of the family learns such, it won't be from me. If Baras was his former Master, that means your lovely Wrath is from the Enthal family. I'd approach that with _ extreme _ caution, Cytha, they're very traditionalist and formidable. At least it seems the Lord Wrath has slipped their influence, if he's so respectful to aliens.

You always did have a weakness for men who wear their hair long, darling. Face it, brother: you have a type. At least this time it seems your affections are returned in kind.

That was a lovely scarf you sent for Nela. I hope that wherever you got it, everything is still standing? They do seem to send you into hazardous situations more often than before.

Yours, lovingly,

Tarka

* * *

_To: Tarkana K’len_  
_ From: Cytharat K’len  
Subject: Did you think I wouldn't_

Why am I not surprised that you, my most beloved sister, would maintain blackmail material against me? I am, of course, Most Disappointed.

The scarf is from a planet called Voss, and although they have had their share of strife in recent years, I have been reassured that all remains upright.

No sooner had I sent my last message to you and had resumed attempting to read some shallow novel acquired from one of the medics ("All Glory for My Lord", by Omnia Sakkaan. It's dreadful. Mother would love it) to stave off the boredom, when someone politely cleared their throat. You'll never guess who was standing there in the doorway, looking, of all things, _ shy. _

Of course, forgetting everything, I gasped, "Lord Tempest!" and scrambled to stand. I succeeded only in causing a twinge from my healing insides which left me hissing. He was by my side in an instant, urging me to lean back against the part of the biobed I had raised. 

"Be at ease, my friend. I'm not here officially."

His smile could have out-shone the sun, Tarka. I was quite blinded, and said something inane. It was probably something like, _ "You're still the Lord Wrath, my Lord," _ because he shook his head with a little laugh and said, "You can call me Kael."

I don't know at what point he had taken my hand, but I squeezed his fingers and replied, "Then you may call me Cytha."

He looked… different. The grimy brown armour had been discarded in favour of a hooded robe of creamy white beneath a blued breastplate; there was some sort of dark, armoured suit beneath the robe. A Sith Lord in white is nearly unthinkable, let alone the Emperor's personal enforcer and executioner, but he wore it well, as one who fears no judgment. He still had his hair bound back, likely to keep it from catching on the bronzed pauldrons, but it gave him a charmingly roguish mien. If he is truly from the Enthal family, he must have given them absolute fits with his lack of care for appearances. 

He squeezed back, but there were shadows in the dark gold of his eyes, and I knew something had gone wrong. "I thought you should hear it from me, rather than some dry report--"

“They haven't told me anything.”

"Probably for the best, considering the tight security we've been under." He sighed and his dear face tightened. "K___ didn't make it. I don't know how close you were to her…."

We hadn't particularly liked each other, but she had been loyal and firm, and I had trusted her to do her job. "Not very, but I'm sorry to hear that."

He was blaming himself for her loss, and the loss of the others who had been with us; it was written in every tense line of his lean frame. It must have been a terrible end, because he said, "She didn't deserve what happened to her. None of them did. You should know that I spoke in favour of everyone in my final report."

You don't know how good it felt to hear that, Tarka. We had all initially feared he might be the sort to lord superiority over us. "Thank you, my-- Kael."

He twitched a smile at my near slip. "How are you faring?"

"On the mend. Not as quickly as I should like, but if I'm careful, they let me walk around on my own." I had been given a basic walking-stick to lean on for my forays around the medcentre -- better than leaning against the wall, to be sure -- and I needed it less and less every day. My left leg had some lingering stiffness from where the muscle had been regrown by extensive kolto treatments, but it was my abdomen that still caused the most trouble.

“Do you think they would let you walk around with company?”

I know it has been some time since the twins were born, Tarka, but you should know that maternity care and intensive care are quite different situations. It is very difficult to be dignified, much less socially presentable, in the loose trousers and wrapped tunic the medics insist their patients wear. The look I gave Kael must have been one to behold, for he laughed with genuine humour -- oh, how it lit his face! -- and picked up a satchel he must have been carrying when he’d arrived. It was mine, containing everything I had brought along with me to that planet I can’t name, including a couple changes of clothes.

“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty. The armour you left in was rather more holes than material.”

I could have kissed him again right there, but it would have been awkward.

Before I went to the effort of struggling into normal clothes, however, I needed to secure permission from Doctor Mandritis. She's a rather brisk, older woman with little time for foolishness, but very, very good at what she does. She nodded respectfully to Kael as she entered. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"

Kael shot me a glance and then bowed politely. "I have an awkward request, Doctor, and I do apologise. Would it endanger Lord Cytharat if he were to spend a quiet evening with me on Dromund Kaas?"

That was _ not _ what I had expected, and it certainly didn't please Doctor Mandritis any. Her lips pinched into a thin line. "It's a highly unusual request, and unorthodox. But I recognise that you could have simply ordered me to release him instead of asking."

He tilted his head modestly. "I try not to abuse my power, Doctor. I do have something of a vested interest in Lord Cytharat's well-being, and if you say it is too risky, then we will attempt to make future plans." He sighed, and I felt his regret and uncertainty keenly, for the odds of us being so close to home at the same time again were slim.

The good Doctor also recognised this. From her attitude towards him, he had clearly been in her care himself, at some point. She pursed her lips and picked up the datapad containing my file; when she spoke again, she addressed me directly. "You're doing well enough that we were looking at release in another five. If you think you can restrain yourself to the most sedate assignation in history, we can justify giving you the evening." She arched a pale brow at me. "There are caveats you would be required to adhere to. Wearing a health monitor at all times, for a start; if it starts beeping, you will cease everything immediately and return to the station. Don't eat anything heavy or rich, and no alcohol or caffeine. No activity that might get you looked at sideways in public." Casting a swift glare at Kael, who looked appropriately chastised, she added, "And because I know people will push those limits, allow me to clarify: if anything in your abdomen twinges for longer than a moment, you are to stop whatever you are doing and summon a medic. Do I make myself clear?"

I nodded. It was far more than I had expected, but there was a hint of sympathy about her. Kael departed to make arrangements, and the Doctor summoned a droid to bring the monitor, which I was to wear strapped to my wrist, and to assist me in dressing. Before she left, she offered a wry smile. "I realise how difficult it is for two warriors to arrange any time together when duty is paramount. Just be very careful not to exert yourself, and I expect you back here within the next fourteen hours."

I wasn't certain what Kael had in mind: initially I'd expected a walk around the quieter parts of the station. You've never been to Vaiken, dear, but believe me when I say that the main levels can be _ raucous. _ Instead, he took me to a shuttle down to Dromund Kaas -- please don't be upset that I didn't visit, this was quite spur of the moment -- and after some discussion, we ended up at a quiet penthouse-level restaurant I had noticed but never visited _ (Diil's _ , if you're wondering). His treat, and honestly I didn't know what to say. He didn't act as though he expected anything more from me than company and pleasant conversation -- and it was pleasant, and engaging, although at one point I felt the need to stop him and ask, "I'm sorry, but how old _ are _ you?"

His high cheeks darkened and he glanced at the glass of water in his hand (he refused anything else, in deference to my temporarily restricted diet). "Twenty-three," he said, as if it were embarrassing.

I was shocked, more that so much responsibility and power had been entrusted to someone so young than because I had been swept off my feet by someone nine years my junior. You may stop laughing at me now, Tarka. It was astonishing that he had been taken from Korriban before the age of twenty-four, and I said so.

He seemed almost ashamed. "I was fast-tracked. Overseer Tremel had me brought in when I was eighteen; he intended to use me to remove a particular acolyte from the running for Baras' next apprentice. It worked, too, though not as he'd planned."

I remembered Tremel vaguely -- I hadn't dealt with him myself, but he had been a consistent presence around the academy during my years. "Dare I ask what happened?"

"If you do, I'll tell you."

"I heard he was killed in a dispute with another Lord."

"In a way." Kael frowned. "Baras bade me do it."

Now that was a shock, and I set my utensils down as I tried to process the sheer bloody-minded viciousness it would take for a Darth to order an under-trained acolyte to fight an Overseer. "He was punishing Tremel for trying to manipulate him."

Kael nodded. "I took no pleasure in it, and later Tremel's daughter thought to kill me out of revenge." He looked at me suddenly, eyes blazing. "What kind of society encourages that level of _ waste? _ The Empire eats itself alive every day. It's no wonder the Republic has held us off for so long."

"We had the treaty for a while," I reminded him.

"I'd rather sign an entire peace agreement than see our best scrapping with each other over _ titles." _ He rubbed his face with one hand. "I'm sorry, Cytha. This isn't good dinner conversation at all, is it."

I laid my hand over his other where it rested on the table. "You're very passionate about it. And I did ask. Baras claimed you when you returned victorious, I'm guessing?"

He turned his palm up under mine and squeezed. "He did. I was too young, but it was obvious he merely needed another disposable tool. He treated all his other apprentices the same: loads of flattery to make them feel special and valued, and set up the successor to defeat them or be defeated. The bastard took pleasure pitting us against each other." He smiled, unhappily. "Please tell me your apprenticeship was better?" 

"Surely you know I was Malgus' apprentice." He had to have known, it would have been in the information he was given about our taskgroup.

He nodded and lowered his voice. "In honesty, I liked him. He had some good points to make. Up until he tried to seize the Emperor's throne, anyway."

"You knew him?"

"Briefly. We worked together on Ilum." 

His face tightened and yes, Tarka, I connected events. Of course Malgus would have seen the Emperor's Wrath as a threat, regardless of any philosophical agreements. Kael would likely have been the highest priority target on the battlefield.

He gave me a sympathetic look, one that spoke volumes. "What was he really like?"

I tore my thoughts from that disastrous end and cast them back upon fonder memories. "Strict, but fair. He wasn't the sort to take more than one apprentice at a time, so I didn't have anyone breathing down my neck. He--" I hesitated, because admitting something like this to a fellow Sith Lord could potentially end badly. But oh, I wanted to be honest with him, Tarka. I didn't want our potential relationship to be raised on a foundation of lies. "Malgus sought acolytes and support staff who shared his views. A lot of the officers serving him had had their careers tanked by voicing sentiments in support of aliens. Or having… certain objectionable family connections."

He nodded without any sign of censure. "I did notice that." There was a look in his eyes of something like regret, and also anger. Disappointment, perhaps. Had Malgus made different choices, the Emperor's Wrath might have been a powerful ally and possibly even a friend.

In any case, I continued, “My apprenticeship wasn’t really remarkable. I learned from him, he gave me increasing responsibilities, and eventually gave me the title of Lord and set me free to choose my own path. I didn’t see him at all again until… well.” Until he had come to me on the cusp of his bid for power, and I had told him I couldn’t support it.

Kael squeezed my hand again. “It’s something of a relief that one of us had a normal life.”

He wasn't the first Sith Lord whose Master had used them like a fighting nexu, and I said as much. His expression darkened again -- not at me, but at the concept.

“That should be considered an outlier situation, not common.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “I should introduce you to my family. They’d love you.”

“I should keep you and yours a thousand parsecs away from mine.” His tone was light and he was smiling, but I knew he meant it. He was quite amused when I told him how you had already warned me about the Enthals, Tarka.

I was tiring, but in no particular rush to return to the station (and to wearing medical garments), so we retired to the stronghold Kael maintains in Kaas City. It's spacious, a double-leveled penthouse, although he wouldn't take the risk of me hurting myself going up the stairs to the more private residence -- from a few offhand comments, I understood that it was more of a base of operations and training hall for his crew than a public space, anyway. The entry level was clearly intended for meetings and impressing people, with a foyer and office to either side off a central hall. The large front room was almost bare but for a large statue of the Emperor in a place of prominence, Imperial banners on each wall.

It felt almost like a shrine, and I said so. Kael shrugged carelessly. "It appeases and intimidates a particular type of person."

"To make them think you worship the Emperor?"

He looked up at the statue's blandly handsome face with an expression of disdain. "Whether I was his personal choice or that of his Hands, I know I'm still nothing more than a tool. Young, possibly too naive to understand that my value at the time lay not in my talents but in some perceived rivalry with Baras. What Sith Lord wouldn't want to strike back at the Master who betrayed them?" His tone was rich with irony, and he scoffed. "But only a fool declines an offer where the alternative is death. People still think to take advantage because I might not recognize their manipulations, as if I didn't grow up in an environment rife with connivery. I bring them here, to remind them the Emperor is always watching."

He laughed and turned to me with a smile of mischievous delight, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow. "And it always works."

Would it surprise you to learn that the Wrath is actually slightly shorter than me, dear sister? I had always fancied a warrior of his class being taller, and only realised my error as he was escorting me down the corridor to a much larger chamber which had been set up as a ballroom. There was a lot more greenery than I would have expected, mostly tropical flowering plants, and banners from a dozen worlds adorning the walls. Of course I asked if he had been to all of them personally.

"Of course." He gestured in the direction of a discreet wall panel nearly hidden by a trellis covered in some sort of climbing vine; the lights dimmed and tiny sparks winked on around the room, descending from the ceiling to hover and drift above our heads like motes of dust in sunlight. Another gesture triggered a hidden sound system -- a slow, modern orchestral piece I was vaguely familiar with -- and I looked at him with amusement.

"Are you hoping I'll dance with you?"

Kael gave me a delighted smile and actually went to one knee before me with my hand clasped between his. "It is my fondest wish."

Tarka, my heart just about stopped. I have never been looked at so: like I was the most precious thing in the galaxy. It took me a couple tries to respond, "It is mine, as well."

In deference to my somewhat fragile state, he took the lead, with one hand pressed to the small of my back, tucking me against his chest. It was less dancing and more swaying to the music; Doctor Mandritis might well have had both our heads for anything more strenuous. Kael easily bore part of my weight as I leaned against him, and eventually I dared to rest my cheek against his pauldron. 

I don't know for how long we simply luxuriated in each other's presence -- a few different pieces had gone by -- when I gave voice to the thought in my mind. "This is perfect."

I could feel him smile against my brow. "I'm glad."

For someone so wreathed in Darkness, he was so gentle and warm. Serene, even, like a narrow stream which runs placid at the surface, but conceals dangers and turbulence in its depths. It was such a marked change from his demeanor on that planet I cannot name, his ferocity in battle, but I find in my heart a great fondness for both sides of his personality. He has secrets, of course -- I can only imagine what someone in his position might learn -- but in representing himself alone there is such open honesty it takes my breath away. 

His hesitated, tensing under my hands, and murmured, "I wonder if we're not going too fast, Cytha."

I drew back, just far enough to look him in the eyes -- the floating lights above us reflected in dark gold, enchanting and otherworldly -- and raised my hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, running my thumb lightly over the bony ridge there. "This isn't too fast, Kael. It's a date. We're getting to know each other, testing where we might fit into each other's lives."

"It feels sudden. Like…." He searched for words and I let him, fascinated by the play of expression on his face. "It feels like a string I didn't know existed pulled taut the moment I met you. It's the most amazing feeling, although--" his lips twitched in a wry smile-- "I rather hope the intensity fades a bit given time and exposure. I'm not certain I have the energy to sustain this."

I laughed, but kindly. "I feel that, as well. But if popular literature is correct, we may be reassured that -- if it doesn't simply turn into flashfire -- it will eventually settle into a comfortable glow."

"Fire metaphors." He was regarding me with something like wonder. "May I kiss you?"

"You had permission before," I teased.

"It can be revoked at any time. And I should still have asked then." His brow tightened. "I wanted to send you to safety with something gentle to remember. Just in case--"

I kissed him, before his trembling voice could finish that sentence. He leaned in with a sigh, accepting what I offered and returning it in equal measure. It wasn’t quite as chaste as our first had been, but still tender, with a hint of cautious desire. When we parted, I said softly, “What might have been, never happened. Why worry about it?”

Kael closed his eyes and rested his forehead against mine gently: the piercings in the bridges of our noses, his silver and mine gold, clinked together softly. “I’d like to do this again. Or something like it. If you wish.”

Of course I wished, and said so. I have yet to experience anything of his character which might set me ill at ease. Whether we can find the time is another matter, and I mentioned to him how you and I fell into the habit of text correspondence when you were at the academy, Tarka. He found the concept quaint, albeit charmingly so, and agreed that it might provide a happy medium. Although any sensitive matters will need to be discussed in person, I have come to find regular messages alleviate the sensation of missing one's presence.

At length, Kael saw me back to the care of Doctor Mandritis and Vaiken Spacedock medical well within the time limit. The good doctor checked the readouts from the health monitor -- I had nearly forgot it was there, so unobtrusive the device was -- and gave me an approving look and a comment about possibly reducing the remaining observation period. This is something of a relief, given that I had during my absence finally received a report from the remaining task force, and my presence is sorely missed. I was gratified to be able to provide an estimate for my return.

I appear to have gone on about this far longer than I anticipated, Tarka. My sincerest apologies. As you can see, things have developed significantly. I cannot foresee the ultimate destination of a path shared with someone of such notoriety as Kael, but I find myself eager to follow it regardless.

Your affectionate brother

* * *

_To: Cytharat K’len_  
_ From: Tarkana K’len  
Subject: You utter fiend_

"Happy medium." Your puns will surely be the death of me.

When I asked for gossip, I wasn't expecting you to provide all that! Mama knocked to make certain I was alright after I made a thoroughly undignified squeak of delight. Cytha, dear, you must find an opportunity to bring him for a visit! Your Kael sounds an utter delight (and I am so gratified to know he does possess a sense of humour).

I shared what I could without breaking our pact of confidence (blackmail material notwithstanding) and while everyone is somewhat disappointed you couldn't return for a visit, we all quite understand that circumstances were rather rushed. I wonder what your doctor has seen of the Wrath's life that she would agree so readily to his request? I get the impression that he is quite solitary, and not entirely by choice. 

And so young! The poor man. While the Overseer (I never dealt with Tremel, either) had plans for him, it's entirely possible his own family invested to push him beyond his class. Lord Navenna does enjoy carrying on about how her son is a Darth and has the Dark Council's ear every chance she gets, as if all his accomplishments were her own doing in entirety.

Now we know in _ what sense _ he has the Council’s ear. I don’t think I shall be sharing _ that _ information among society. It's clear he views it as a burden, and it’s no wonder Navenna leaves his title out of the conversation -- it’s a position to make all but the most certain Lords tremble when its bearer enters the room.

Although now I must wonder: if Tremel intended to interrupt another acolyte's rise, could he have somehow foreseen that Baras' next apprentice would gain such a position? Could he have believed that other acolyte would fail in removing Baras before the Dark Council could confirm him? Did he know what Baras was plotting? Alas that Baras had the man killed (and I cannot begin to fathom what might have come to pass had Kael failed _ that _ test, let alone how Baras' heart must have leapt in joy and terror at his success) for now we cannot ask.

Regardless, I _ am _ happy for you, Cytha, and for your Kael. I do hope you are able to maintain a connection over the distances between you.

Your adoring

Tarka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarka's musing about Tremel's motives is mine, actually. Game characters, like characters in other mediums, are both unreliable narrators and have no reason to tell the truth even to the audience. It's possible Tremel was aiming even higher, if he'd had some premonition about Baras' apprentice rising so high; if so, then of course he would have no reason to tell the Warrior what he was really planning: ignorance creates malleability. We'll never know, will we?
> 
> If you run a Light-oriented Warrior and let Jaesa be herself, you end up finding that there are many Sith who are equally conflicted, probably for the same reasons. Kael didn't grow up questioning the way of things -- he was an entitled little shit when he was a kid -- but after watching too many of his classmates fighting over nothing, he started really thinking about it.
> 
> ... I have no idea what this note below is doing here, it's supposed to be on Chapter 1.


	3. Keep it in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it was ever a secret, it isn't anymore

_To: Lord Navenna Enthal_   
_ From: Lord Priia Zakal  
Subject: You didn't tell me!_

My dear cousin, how dare you hide _ that _ juicy tidbit in your purse! Were you intending to keep it secret until Jeza's next salon? The nexu's fled its pen prematurely, I'm afraid!

* * *

_To: Lord Priia Zakal_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: Whatever are you talking about?_

.

* * *

_To: Lord Navenna Enthal_   
_ From: Lord Priia Zakal  
Subject: Playing coy won't help you_

And here I thought I was your closest confidant! Your _ son, _ my dear! We saw him at _ Diil's _ , dining _ quite closely _ with a handsome young Pureblood. I'd congratulate you on the match, but nobody I was with could identify him. Who _ is _ he???

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: I am most displeased_

My darling, do you not recall my instructions to inform me if you happen to arrange assignations? I cannot be looking the naïf while the rest of Kaas City knows all about your trysting!

* * *

_To: Mother_   
_ From: Orrakael  
Subject: You can't be serious_

_ Trysting _ is a very strong word for having dinner with a colleague.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: Your informalities will be the death of me_

Priia and several others saw you _ dining closely _ at _ Diil's _ , my dear. If the man were merely a colleague, you would have remained a respectful distance separated. You _ know _ what an inveterate gossip my cousin is; by now everyone will have learned of this. Tell me his name, at the very least, so I do not look the complete fool.

* * *

_To: Mother_   
_ From: Orrakael  
Subject: No._

He and his family don't deserve to be dragged into your pointless dramatics.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: I can find out_

I shouldn't have to remind you that I am well acquainted with the sister of _ Diil's _ owner's wife. Do you truly wish me to find the information for myself?

* * *

_To: Mother_   
_ From: Orrakael  
Subject: I'll say this only once_

His name is Cytharat, and you will not interfere with nor interrogate his family. Leave them out of it, whatever _ it _ might be. Force knows I have no idea why you feel the need to make everyone's _ private _ business your own.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: Not this again_

As my son and thus a member of my direct family, your business, private or public, _ is _ my business. Every time you ignore propriety, it falls to me to make your apologies and soothe ruffled feathers. Please, darling, for once in your life try to have some respect for our station.

If this is Cytharat from the K'len family, I'm afraid I have to insist that you cease your association immediately. He and his family are known traitors to the Empire due to his association with that selfish slug Malgus. You are the Emperor's Wrath and ought well to know better.

* * *

_To: Mother_   
_ From: Orrakael  
Subject: I did do my research, thank you_

The K'len family and particularly Cytharat have proven their loyalty to the Emperor beyond a shadow of a doubt and been exonerated. If you don't believe me, I suggest you consult with Darth Marr.

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Lord Navenna Enthal  
Subject: Cytharat K'len_

My Lord,

I humbly beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, however it is an urgent matter which cannot wait. I have been informed that the K'len family are no longer considered to be enemies of the Empire. It is imperative that this be confirmed shortly.

Your Obedient,  
Lord Navenna Enthal

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Darth Marr  
Subject: Lord Navenna_

What is your mother up to this time?

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Darth Tempest  
Subject: Poking about in my life again_

It appears she took me up in my challenge to ask you, if she didn't believe me. My sincerest apologies; one would think I had learnt better than to goad her by now. Deal with it or not as you please.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Darth Marr  
Subject: My apprentice can handle it_

Incidentally, it’s good to see that Lord Cytharat has a champion.

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Darth Tempest  
Subject: Oh don’t you start_

He hardly needed my help.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Darth Marr  
Subject: He did_

Do not underestimate the court of public opinion. It spoke well of his character that he turned himself in, but there was an exceptional amount of sentiment which stood against offering him a second chance, and there would have been few tears shed over his loss.

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Darth Tempest  
Subject: I've been meaning to ask about that_

I distinctly recall Moff Phennir, who worked quite closely with Malgus in his power buildup, being given a second chance on Ilum.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Darth Marr  
Subject: There were more factors in play_

I'm certain Lord Cytharat has informed you of his family's extreme unpopularity. They openly support a number of causes which threaten the status quo, and a majority of the Dark Council finds this unacceptable. I was in favor of giving him a chance to fight on Ilum, but the Council voted that a more extreme gesture of loyalty was necessary. I provided him three dangerous theatres to choose from; he picked Makeb. In retrospect, I suspect that the Force had a hand in his decision. The other two fields were qualified disasters.

Your association with him has not gone unnoticed, and there is very quiet speculation regarding what it might mean. Consider this a warning.

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Darth Tempest  
Subject: He did mention that_

I had no idea of the rest. 

You may consider me warned.

* * *

_To: Lord Navenna Enthal_   
_\-- BCC: Darth Tempest --_   
_ From the Desk of Darth Marr  
Subject: RE: Cytharat K'len_

In light of recent heroic action in service to the Emperor, Cytharat K'len and the K'len family and their extensions have proven their loyalties to the Empire beyond suspicion. 

In the future, it would behoove you to remember that questioning the word of the Emperor's Wrath could be considered by some to be treasonous. 

Head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire  
Darth Marr

* * *

_To: Darth Marr_   
_ From: Darth Tempest  
Subject: Was that truly necessary_

Not that we aren't appreciating the humour.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Darth Marr  
Subject: Yes_

You are the Emperor's Wrath first and her son second. She needed a reminder.

You would be wise to remember that your words carry a great deal more weight now.

* * *

_To: Darth Tempest_   
_ From: Lord Kesaris Enthal  
Subject: Propriety_

My dearest son,

I should not have to remind you that your Mother and I have only your best interests at heart, and that our concerns regarding the K'len family stem from their long history of being _ reformists. _ As such, you should consider that being seen in the presence of such individuals could reflect poorly both upon your name and your station.

In the future, please do not antagonize your Mother.

Your loving  
Father

* * *

_To: Father_   
_ From: Orrakael  
Subject: Thank you_

I shall take it under advisement.

* * *

_To: Tarkana K’len_   
_ From: Cytharat K’len  
Subject: What a horrifying thought_

You always do come up with the theories most likely to disturb me, Tarka.

The tendency of Sith lords to use their lessers as tools for their own advancement does seem to result in far too many deaths. The idea that Tremel had somehow been attempting to curtail Baras’ reach for the position of the Emperor’s Voice by pushing Kael into position makes me wonder how much influence the Force itself had on matters. While we might strive for clarity of vision, the Force has its own purposes for revealing or concealing things.

Kael certainly seems to feel he has no real control over his own life -- or influence upon it, if his demeanor regarding his parents’ interference is any indication. The role he has now does allow him some place to stand and leverage his own reputation, although he still represents the Emperor’s influence. 

If we even have an Emperor anymore. The Republic’s widespread announcement has set my colleagues ill at ease. Kael didn’t mention it on his visit, but he may not have been at liberty to say anything at the time. What do you make of their claims to have slain the Emperor on his own station, dearest Tarka? I can’t say I put much stock in them, but the rumours of His absence have been rampant for some time already. I would think the Jedi were trying to foment unrest and uncertainty, particularly in the face of renewed conflict, but it seems an exorbitant fallacy to spread at such a time.

Regardless, the Empire is more than its leader: we have our ideals and philosophies to guide us, as we always have. The Dark Council will maintain the order of things and decide if and when to select the Emperor's successor. And how. I cannot begin to imagine what would be required for that.

Kael might know, come to that, but I would never dare ask it of him. Honestly, my dearest wish now is to bring him someplace where he can simply _ be, _ without pressure or expectation. The constant tension is wearing a furrow between his brows.

I have had to set this aside for some two hours. Doctor Mandritis arrived to announce that I am indeed being released from observation tomorrow, along with a comm from my team on That Place Which Cannot Be Named that they're being pulled out and will collect me here in the morning. Blissful freedom! I have some preparations to make.

Your hopeful  
Cytha

* * *

_Log entry 03.05.1361_   
_ Lord Orrakael Enthal  
secure cipher_

I need a secretary. Marr might foist his correspondence off on poor Drellik, but I wouldn't wish my family on _ Baras, _ let alone Jaesa.

<strike> I could make Quinn deal with it, I suppose </strike> no, that would be a disaster.

I shall be eternally grateful to Doctor Mandritis for her forbearance. It was worth it to see Cytharat again. He was looking far better than when I last saw him on Makeb. I didn't really have a plan when I went, beyond visiting for a short while, but he had such an air of edginess at being locally restricted, and the absurd impulse to take him elsewhere for a brief change of scenery became irresistible. 

I've never done this before. Not that I've had opportunity to _ meet people _ since being sent to the academy. Mother would, of course, take me to her salons and shove me at random girls, but that kind of _ meeting _ implies political alliance-making rather than forming emotional connections, and occurs under strictly controlled conditions. 

"Dining closely." Ugh, what a concept. When companions are seated further apart, it obliges them to raise their voices to hear one another over the musicians, which in turn allows others to eavesdrop with ease. Father introduced me to that particular concept quite early, and I'm annoyed at the suggestion that I would have forgotten that so many of their circles treat dining out as an excuse to show off to everyone in the room. I could explain to her that we weren't there to make a scene, but she wouldn't understand that the only food readily available in my own stronghold is ration bars and caf in obscene quantities -- the rare social events I'm obliged to host are entirely catered.

Off the field, Cytha has a scintillating personality and a beautifully dry sense of humour. I could have listened to him disparage Moff Drayson all evening, to say nothing of the rest of his conversation. He's an utter delight, with a mischievous little grin that makes me suspect he was quite the prankster in his youth. I do hope to draw the imp out in the future and see what a devious mind my darling strategist truly has.

_ My darling strategist. _ I fear I'm getting ahead of myself; I can hardly lay claim to his attentions so early in our association.

I knew the question of my age would be raised eventually; it always is. Nobody wants to admit their parents pulled strings to get them promoted; yet how many others who claim to have risen on their own merit owe their rank to substantial quantities of money and social maneuvering? I didn’t deserve to be pulled out and sent to Korriban a year before I was ready; I certainly didn’t work for that dubious privilege, and in those early days, it showed.

I have no doubts Baras knew that; given his paranoid tendency to have informants everywhere, I suspect he knew exactly what Tremel was up to, and went out of his way to let Vemrin know about me. I wonder that his manipulations seemed so clear to me, yet utterly ensnared everyone else. Possibly it was because I know what to look for, that I almost _ expect _ it of everyone? That can't be the whole of it, but it might be a facet.

It was something of a relief that Cytha was more aghast at those manipulations than at my relative youth. I didn't see the point in asking his age; that he's my elder is clear -- Cytha has a quiet, settled confidence that seems to come with experience and feeling that one need not prove oneself at all moments, and I will admit that to be an immensely attractive quality. He didn't begin to speak down at me, nor did he withdraw his interest, and that's truly all that matters.

He allowed me to draw him close, and I have never before felt someone who fit so well in my arms. The fondness and trust with which he rested his head on my shoulder shook me to my core. Force, I could gaze upon him every day and never tire of the view. 

Still, I worry that I have been caught in a surge of desire without true affection; he doesn't deserve to be regarded so cheaply. Our courtship feels uncommonly swift, although I know many who would act with even more haste. I want this to be _ right _ \-- for both of us. I want to walk into this with my eyes open, conscious of our mutual faults and willing to work past them. I want to be _ worthy _ of his time and attentions.

I want to bring him _ joy. _

Vette has called me a dreadful sap -- and worse -- three times already. She's fond in her teasing, more so than Pierce anyway, who definitely finds no interest in men and has already made crude jokes about lightsabers and duelling. Jaesa thinks it's sweet and has suggested gifts I might acquire for Cytha, Quinn doesn't seem to understand, and Broonmark is, well… Broonmark. 

(I'm surprised the Talz has stayed, frankly. I think they simply require leadership to follow.)

At the same time, I have work to do. The Hands insist the Emperor still lives, despite the actions of the Jedi, and while Marr believes me, I know he has contingency plans. I can’t pretend to understand the nature of the Emperor anymore -- anyone who can “survive” being discorporated for an extended period of time is… beyond mere mortals in a way that sends a chill down my spine. It’s striking how the Hands assume that I can simply accept the role they placed me in without questioning the mechanisms behind it.

It feels like I’m being watched. I sense nothing, internal scans reveal nothing out of the ordinary, but the feeling remains.

It’s time to start making alliances.

* * *

_To: Cytharat K’len_   
_ From: Orrakael Enthal  
Subject: Heads up_

I’m afraid a member of my incredibly nosy family saw us the other night, which means the _ entire _ family knows or will know in very short order. This is…. rather the opposite of what I was hoping for, and possibly means your family will have some obsessive busybodies poking into their business. It might have been better had I arranged for a chef to prepare something at my stronghold, and for the lack of foresight, I apologise.

My mind continually returns to memories of our evening together. I dearly hope I haven't soured in your regard.

Your affectionate,  
Kael

* * *

_To: Orrakael Enthal_   
_ From: Cytharat K’len  
Subject: We had noticed_

Quite the contrary, my dearest, I am ever more determined to see you again.

My sister did say someone has been making enquiries regarding her at the Foundation, and while they have policies of not sharing, it is very difficult to maintain principles in the face of political weight being thrown around like a gundark in a porcelain shop. Your family are _ not _ subtle, darling, and it would be immensely entertaining if they were not so intent on making such an indelible impression of themselves.

I do not begrudge you the lack of foresight, dearest. It was a delightful evening, and even Doctor Mandritis expressed appreciation -- apparently having the evening out of the ward was good for my well-being and general health. It was wonderful to have some time to get to know you better without worrying about an entire planet quite literally falling down around our ears.

Regarding which: I was finally sent the official report from Captain H____. May I just take a moment to express appreciation for how you handled that situation, dearest? Anyone else might have taken the easy route of letting things occur as they would; a controlled collapse cannot have been a simple thing to arrange, and your respect for the scientists involved has improved your esteem among the operations team immeasurably.

My family wishes to know when we might arrange to be on Dromund Kaas together again. I might not have another opportunity until my oldest nephew finishes his initial training at the academy -- in four months, I’ve been told, and I intend to be there to see him for a few days before he gets on the shuttle to the station. But they do greatly desire to meet you -- as yourself, not as the Wrath. 

I hope you find time, as well. It has been less than a week and already I miss the richness of your voice in my ear, the warm clasp of your hand in mine. I confess that I have never attempted such a relationship, where we might be parted for long periods of time, before now. My mothers have asked me to forward their well wishes on your behalf; I'm afraid you may already have been adopted, my dear.

Until I may hold you in my arms once more, I remain your patient,  
Cytha

* * *

_To: Cytharat K'len_   
_ From: Orrakael Enthal  
Subject: You say such lovely things_

I am not accustomed to this. Have patience with me, darling.

Unfortunately I don't have any way to predict when I might be pulled back to Dromund Kaas. They have me out being a visible extension of the Empire's will to scare planets from the secession route. I'm certain most of the Council would prefer it if I simply executed everyone who had even the slightest seditious thought, but in situations where it's not direct Republic interference, it's typically a matter of the planet's needs not being met by the Empire. If I were to lop the head off and put a new one in place, the problem would still remain.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only level-headed person in the Council meetings. Loyalty to the Empire should be repaid with loyalty _ from _ the Empire.

I'm sorry, dearest. I'm not accustomed to writing. I rant at my logbook about this on a regular basis; you don't need to be subject to the same.

I would very much like to meet your family, if it were possible to arrange a quiet visit home. Unfortunately, even in the most anonymizing armour, I seem to be recognized everywhere. It's upsetting at times, and makes even the most discreet attempts to visit very much… not discreet at all.

Am I truly that recognisable even with my face covered?

What happened to that planet was outrageous. If you saw my addition to the report, then you know what utter bantha dung the Archon was spouting, and it was ever so satisfying to take him down a few pegs. I’m amused that we inadvertently cooperated with the Republic -- their evacuation both made our work possible and ensured that there would be people who _ could _ return once things stabilized. There won't be much to return to, thanks to the damned Hutts, but at least it's something.

I suppose at this point I should be asking after your family; I wish there was more I _ didn't _ know, but I've been obliged to run a security check on your background, which includes all your relations to the fifth remove, and I _ despise _ that it's considered necessary. If I hadn't, Marr would have done it for me and made sure I read the report. I'm sorry, Cytha. This isn't how I would have wanted this to go under better circumstances. My private life has become very much the opposite, and not for reasons of my mother's meddling.

You'll notice a large file attached; it's a copy of a holonovel my apprentice brought with her when she left the Jedi. Republic literature is deeply entertaining, and I find the absurdist humour appealing. She asked me to extend her regards; I believe this is her way of expressing approval for our association. 

There is so much I wish to tell you, but it should not be rendered into text save by historians. I didn't expect that: the urge to tell you everything, even the smallest of thoughts. It feels selfish; you are not intended to be my journal, after all, and much of what I know should not weigh upon your shoulders as well. We would both then bear the same load, rather than sharing it, and that's hardly fair to you. But I miss you, dearest. Have confidence that you are foremost in my thoughts -- I feel the ridiculous urge to reassure you that this is not always the case, as my work demands I put the Empire first. But when I am not actively serving the Empire, I think of you the most. May our paths cross sooner rather than later, my brilliant strategist.

Yours ever,  
Kael

* * *

_To: Orrakael Enthal_   
_ From: Cytharat K'len  
Subject: My glorious tempest_

I can’t be the first to tell you that you bear a certain _ gravitas _ even if you may not intend it. The Dark Side mantles you noticeably, although I imagine it’s rather more difficult to see it when you’re the center of the storm. Your Darth title is well-chosen, you know, and even the most insensitive of people must be able to feel the weight of your presence.

Not that being in your company is at all a trial! It is, as I have described to my sister, rather more like remaining on the shallow edge of a deep river, warm and placid whilst knowing that crushing depths and torrential rapids still exist. You have inspired me to poetry, my dear.

I suspected you might perform such investigations into my family of your own accord when we first met. It says positive things about your disposition towards others that you did not, in fact, wish to make such inquiries. My mothers wish to make known that your presence would be most welcome, disguise or not. We are, as you might imagine, rather recently acquainted with being the centre of unwelcome and extensive attention; that the attention might be due to your presence rather than any secondhand reputation would be a refreshing change.

Ah! Illicit literature. You know my tastes well, I see! Please extend my regards to your apprentice; I am sorry we did not previously have the chance to meet.

Oh, my dearest. In sharing that which weighs most heavily upon you, you would not be forcing me to bear an identical load; for it is still upon your shoulders the heaviest. Instead, you would be affording yourself of the shoulder I am offering for you to rest upon. Have no fear that I might tire of such a duty, for it is your well-being that interests me. It is _ not _ selfish of you to wish to unburden yourself even temporarily, and I treasure hearing your opinions and insights, and your dry commentary. While I understand there are things which you are not in any position to share -- your role being what it is -- I am still here for you to lean on when needed.

We’re being deployed again, this time to Kaon in the Tion Hegemony; there’s a rakghoul crisis in progress. If there is one thing to be thankful for, it’s the presence of a working vaccine, finally. Wish me luck.

Your adoring,  
Cytha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the most frustrating things in the game is when a character has faked their death (or survived an attempt on their life but chooses to take advantage of it) and goes undercover, but it doesn't matter how concealing their helmet is, someone will recognise them anyway. WTF.

**Author's Note:**

> The opening report is from the game.


End file.
